


Clown, Carrot, Ocean

by That Little Quiet Mollcroft Geek (shnuffeluv)



Series: "Prompt But Slow"'s [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I know this sucks, It's NaNo and I needed a break, shut up Emily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/That%20Little%20Quiet%20Mollcroft%20Geek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft gets drunk at Sherlock's wedding, and decides it'd be a good idea to swim away somewhere where he won't bother anyone. But, as I said before, he's drunk. Which does not go well with swimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clown, Carrot, Ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [jaimistoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller) in the [PromptButSlow](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PromptButSlow) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> clown, carrot, ocean
> 
> sent in by princess_lollipop

In the middle of the Caribbean, there was a small party, on a small boat, for a large occasion.

Sherlock Holmes was getting married. Everyone was there, his parents, John, Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft had come, though he desperately wished he hadn’t. Everyone was smiling and laughing, having fun and dancing as Sherlock and Irene were congratulated on the event. Mycroft picked at the carrots in his salad. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy for Sherlock, he was. But he brought to the horrible realization that he was completely and utterly alone. He smiled when cued, but the second he went inside his room, he undressed and melted face-first into the pillow. It was hard to breathe but he didn’t deign to care about that. He felt like he may as well jump ship.

Jump ship...could he? Did he dare? It would be considered incredibly selfish of him if he did. But, Sherlock was always selfish, and if anyone would understand, it’d be him. Mycroft sat up, pulled on his trousers and shirt, and made his way to the deck. Paused. No one was around, no one would know what he did until their hangovers cleared enough to realize he was missing. He was sick and tired of hearing about everyone talking, and surely he could find his way to shore. They weren’t too far off from anywhere.

He sat on the railing. Considered. Suppose he couldn’t find land? This was practically suicide. _Not if I find land it isn’t,_ he reasoned. _And it’s not like anyone is expecting me when we get back._

That thought alone made him shove off the stern.

The water was cold, but not freezing. Refreshing, that was the word. As he floated there, he looked up at the sky. He didn’t know why he felt so hopeless looking up at the sky, but he did. He was just taking a float, though. Until a big wave dunked him under the water. He came up, coughing and sputtering. Ah, right. That was why he was telling himself he needed to head for land. He started swimming. Another wave knocked him under the water. He couldn’t see which way he was supposed to swim. He lay on his side, and started drifting downward. He swam the opposite direction. As he surfaced, he saw someone on the deck, looking down at the water. _Are you going to make me go back up there? I’m having a better time down here,_ he thought. And then, _Given my alcohol consumption over the night, I’m probably drunk. Perhaps jumping off the ship wasn’t the best idea._ He waved at the person, and they ran away. _Where are you going?!_ he thought. _Can’t you see I can’t climb back up myself?_

Another wave hit, this one huge. Mycroft was rammed into the ship and he yelped in surprise. He heard Sherlock yell down, “When the captain says you should go inside because the waves are getting rough and you might get thrown off, you should listen, brother dear.”

Did the captain say that? He couldn’t remember. It was getting hard to swim, not because of the water, but the awful knot forming on the back of his head. He was getting a...what was it? A concussion, he was pretty sure. He slipped under the water and couldn’t force himself back up. The water looked black, and then there was a void where his consciousness should be.

…

…

…

Good morning, everyone! He bolted forward, wincing at the pain from the back of his head, and coughing up seawater. He decided he would never swim after touching alcohol again. He wouldn’t even think about it. Depressants and the ocean are certainly not a good mix. He rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth and saw there was lipstick on them. “Who gave me mouth-to-mouth?!” he asked incredulously.

Everyone was silent around him, but Molly was a bright crimson. _So she cared enough to not let me die…?_ “Um, thank you...Molly,” he said. “I...think I should go back to my room…” he muttered before he could do anything else he might regret. _Wait for the alcohol to leave your system before you try to get to know her, idiot. No one likes a clingy drunk._

At least he now had someone to talk to.


End file.
